


five times crowley showed his angel the stars (and the one time he didn't)

by aceforwhatevenisthis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Asexual Relationship, Astronomy, Fluff, Fluffy, Historical References, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Wingfic, Wings, aziraphale knows almost nothing about most things he just reads enough to be hip with the kids, crowley is very soft, history is very hard to accurately pinpoint but oh well, i know nothing about astronomy, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceforwhatevenisthis/pseuds/aceforwhatevenisthis
Summary: Crowley created the stars. They were his proudest accomplishments.But ever since his Fall, he hasn't been able to return to them.At least, he can show them to his angel.





	1. it's such a fine and natural sight

**The Garden of Eden, 4004 BC**

The snake surprised him, somehow. Aziraphale knew about the Temptation, of course he did, he was Guardian Angel of the Eastern Gate, but seeing the enormous black, red-bellied serpent convert to the form of a red-haired man was such an unnerving sight to see that it made him more worrisome than he was already. 

Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t be-- what was the word?--  _ friendly _ with the enemy, a demon, but he seemed so approachable and assuring and Aziraphale just had this anxious  _ feeling _ about that sword and -- 

Then it started to rain. The Earth was experiencing its first rainfall, the newest source of water apart from the lake and ponds in the Garden. But Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to see that, quite surprisingly, the calm but seemingly playful demon known as Crawly was in obvious, almost painful, distress. 

_Of course_ , thought Aziraphale. In heaven, the only water they had was holy water. There was no need for any sustenance of any kind so when the Almighty proposed the idea of normal, made-for-humans water, the Rebellion had already happened. The demon standing beside Aziraphale had already Fallen. (Oh, and how pity crept into Aziraphale’s soul as he remembered witnessing his formerly-fellow angels dive into a pit of boiling sulfur.) He was probably thinking that the Almighty was giving him due payment already. _That_ for one wouldn’t be punishment for a first offense.

So-- and Aziraphale didn’t really know what came over him but-- the angel extended a long, soft, white, and feathery wing so that it could cover that wily serpent. The demon tucked his wings to fit tightly under what one would call in modern times a makeshift umbrella. It was a simple gesture, Aziraphale supposed, but it was enough to put Crawly at ease, at least if only just a little, for they had no reason to trust each other. No, no reason at all. 

But they both stood there, upon the stony high walls of Eden, until the thunderstorm cleared as quickly as it brewed and the sun had long set. The bright, blazing stars were out, sprinkling the dark sky like flicks of paint. 

Crawly had mumbled something. Aziraphale asked him if he could repeat it.

“I said,” the demon drawled, “that you don’t get a view like this from down there.” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said promptly, adjusting his hands in front of him, then using one to point to the sky. “Neither from up-- up there.” He stopped. “But I suppose you knew that already.” 

“Sure.” Crawly sniffed. 

“Well, with you being a demon after all-”

Crawly nodded.

“And being a former-”

“Yes, I get it.” Even if he said it forcefully, it wasn’t a snap that Aziraphale would have expected from reckless, angry, loathing creatures like the enemy, like demons. If Aziraphale would have known better, he would have said there was even a softness in Crawly’s voice, as angry as it may sound. However, Aziraphale did indeed not know any better. He hadn’t been on Earth for very long and it wasn’t as if Adam and Eve were of the very talkative type. (The angel only really interacted with them once and then quickly left too so there wasn’t much space to ask about the weather or how the family was doing.) 

What came, even more, a surprise to Aziraphale was that the demon was  _ sitting down _ on the stone walls of Eden. It was not proper sitting, however, as he slunk down to bend his knees and rest his hands on them, his black wings limp at his sides. 

Aziraphale didn’t mean to stare, truly he didn’t, but he did anyway. Manners, in a human sense, were not yet created but with angelic knowledge and a (very strict, clearly) moral compass, it seemed more like common sense to the angel.

Crawly caught him. He seemed to understand Aziraphale’s silent question. The demon shrugged. “They only said get up there and make trouble. Never anything about a deadline.” 

“Did you not just complete the ‘trouble?’” asked Aziraphale. 

“Yep,” Crawly popped his lips. “But as far as they know, I got into some nasty trouble of my own with an angel.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “You would lie to your own side?” 

“Well, I’m a demon. It’s what I do, ain’t it? Lie, tempt, terrorize.” Aziraphale swore he saw a sliver of a small smile but it was also so sad that it could hardly count as a smile. “Besides, stars are out. Might as well enjoy them.” 

“I never knew a demon could enjoy anything.”

Crawly stiffened. “I’m not enjoying. Nothing is being enjoyed. Down there’s just awfully stuffy, I suppose. Up here has much more space. Open air.” He extended his wings as if to further his point. Under the shining moon, the black raven-like wings glistened a sharp blue color, fading into a distant dark yet vibrant red at the tips. Crawly shook them too, getting any excess water off them, having caught the idea that rain won’t hurt him. But those  _ wings _ , Aziraphale found too-- er, interesting-- to belong an evil demon ( _ Lord give me strength) _ . They’d rather belong on the noblest of angels, he reckoned. 

“Hm,” was all Aziraphale said in response and he knew that demons can’t be mind readers but still, that fear that Crawly could’ve noticed was instilled within him, so he didn’t trust his voice. Instead, he looked on to see that the two humans, in their shallow cave used a shelter from the cold wind, were using his flaming sword to try to do,  _ something _ (he didn’t know the word for cooking as it had not been even so proposed by the Almighty ever before) to the lion carcass. 

“It’s already dead. What’s the point in killing it more?” asked Crawly with a furrowed brow, almost disgust. Interesting.

“I believe they are going to  _ eat  _ it. I found them searching for  _ food _ soon after the, erm, apple.” Aziraphale had encountered them picking grapes and berries from the bushes. Encountered is used broadly as it was more that the angel merely watched from atop the walls as he gazed down into Eden. 

“Well, that’s just unnecessary.” 

“Pardon?” Aziraphale turned to Crawly but the demon didn’t meet his gaze.

“Why eat it when it’ll be a burned crisp? Seems completely wasted. To think I was under the impression that there was knowledge in that apple. They’re so--  _ stupid _ .” 

“I believe they want the meat from that lion.” There was no meat, no carnivores, no danger in Eden. Only fruits and bushes and trees and the occasional passing butterfly or bird, and Aziraphale had found himself enjoying a conversation with a squirrel at one point. 

“Seems to me that wasted food is just evil. Well, not evil. Well, not good either. Just, bad.” This demon was quite funny in the way he talked. Aziraphale almost liked it, all the nonsense that came out of Crawly’s mouth. Almost. 

But he frowned nonetheless. “Demons do evil, are evil. Not only did you bring pain to them but you also put them on their own, defenseless. Poor things.” 

Crawly hissed. “ _ I’m  _ not the one who kicked them out. That was all-” He huffed. “That was all Her. I still think She should’ve put a big sign if She really didn’t want anything to happen. Or put the blasted tree on the moon. The moon would’ve been great. I like the moon.” 

“Well, the Almighty’s plan is ineffable. There is no explanation, just-”

“Ineffability,” Crawly finished for him.

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale looked around, tucking his wings as they rustled in the gentle cold wind. Outside of the Garden, there was only sand. Sand that up until a few hours ago was scorching hot from the heat of the sun but that after a while felt nice and comfortable to touch as human skin got used to it. He wondered if his human wards would do anything to combat the heat. A part of him hoped they will. Another part thought that it felt too warm for anything to combat it.

“You know,” Crawly shifted and his wings went with him, “With all the heat from the day, you’d think they’d want to spend it in the cold. But all they’ve done is prance around that sword of yours. The only reason they haven’t just clung onto it is because it’ll burn them.” 

Aziraphale shuffled on his feet and held his head high. “They do seem to do things for the sake of doing them. I suppose that your lot’s fault.” 

Crawly made a noise of agreement but Aziraphale didn’t catch the way he flinched. Then Crawly looked up at the night sky and pointed to one of brightest stars they could both see easily with no added help. “That one hasn’t moved.”

The angel hadn’t even noticed that, indeed, the stars have moved. So had the moon. Where before it stood only halfway along its path, it was now a little farther towards the end of the other side of the horizon. But that particularly glowing star stood out from the rest in a way Aziraphale couldn’t comprehend. Something was special about it. 

“It’s never gonna move.” Crawly dropped his hands to rest behind him on the stone floor, using them as support. “Can’t move. All the stars go around it, see?”  
He did see. All the other stars rotated around the yellow star giving the impression of a curved, circular sky. It was mesmerizing to look at. 

“Seems like a pole,” was all the angel said. 

“It’s actually a triple star system. Three stars orbiting each other. Polaris A, AB, and then B.”

“It seems like one.” 

“It’s too far away.” Crawly stopped, as if considering his next words. “It’s part of a constellation too.” 

“Sorry, a what?”

Crawly stared blankly at Aziraphale, who stared back dumbfoundedly. He must’ve said something wrong but he also wondered how a demon could possibly know more than an angel. The records that Heaven keeps had updated multiple times since the Rebellion. 

“A constellation. Ya know. It’s like a,” Crawly used his hands to create shapes in the air, waving them around, “It’s a shape. Sorta.” 

The angel nodded. There was a silence that fell upon both of them. Crawly laid back as his wings dematerialized. He put his arms behind his head. Aziraphale wanted to scold him. 

“The constellation’s a bear. Small bear. I like to call her Ursa.” 

Aziraphale did not question how the demon knew constellations and the names of stars or any knowledge of the stars. He did not question because he was afraid to. Questioning can get you awfully close to, er,  _ Down There _ .

“Imagine being so self-centered that the world literally revolves around you, eh?” Crawly tried for a smile up to the angel. 

Somehow, for some reason, Aziraphale actually laughed at that one. It was a small laugh, mostly directed towards the ridiculousness of their current situation. A demon and an angel, together upon the walls of Eden, talking about the stars and cracking jokes. Suddenly, Aziraphale stopped and gave one single cough. He was  _ not  _ about to let some demon tempt him into having a good-- erm, enjoyable?-- time. 

Crawly hummed. “You’re tough to crack.” 

“You’re a demon.”

“Am I? Hadn’t noticed. Astute observation. Well done, really.” 

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, I should really be going.” 

“It’s a singular garden in the middle of a desert. Where would you go?”

“Just- I’ll be going.” In truth, Aziraphale wanted to cover up the hole left in the wall where Adam and Eve left the Garden from. He figured that as beautiful Eden is that it shouldn’t be ruined by a broken wall. It wasn’t very orderly. “Upstairs is calling.”

Crawly scrunched up his face. “Why would they-”

“Going!” said Aziraphale, almost desperately. He unfolded his wings and stretched them as he prepared himself to fly. He didn’t know where. Just fly. Away. 

The demon watched him as he took off, heading in a direction that was definitely not towards Heaven. (Even angels can lie, apparently.) Crawly watched as the angel that really didn’t seem as much as a prick like he expected fly away and then drop behind another barrier of the Garden, from where Adam emerged with Eve as they left. 

Crawly watched as the sun rose in the sky, a star that he felt sad about not having been there for its creation. A star that colored the sky in hues of pink, blazing with orange, warming up with red. He thought it was a star well done. Beautiful star. 

Crawly watched as the humans came out of their cave, hand-in-hand, braving the treacherous world laid out before them. 

Crawly watched, just as he soon always will. 


	2. everybody here is out of sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a falling star,” Crowley said helpfully. “Rare occurrence.”
> 
> “It’s very beautiful.”
> 
> “Yeah.” Then Crowley decided that he had another chance to keep talking so he did. “You can make a wish upon it.”
> 
> “Sounds delightful. Very human, if that makes any sense. Very…” Aziraphale searched for the right word. Finally, he came up with, “It’s very hopeful.”

**Alexandria, Egypt, 48 BC**

As far as the years went, Crowley was not really having much of a good one. But for an immortal being, years seem like the equivalent of a month, so it was much so like Crowley was not having a very good decade. Century, even, if you wanted to add more drama, which he never says no to. 

For one, Rome was a thing. There was nothing Crowley particularly cared for about in the Roman Empire. There was the odd war here and there, but it really was mostly just a one-sided battle where Rome would win and woe are the poor people who had the brave idea to face one of the current superpowers of the known world. Afro-Eurasia hadn’t discovered the Americas yet. Crowley was not looking forward to the day that they do. The natives there are so very friendly, untouched, left alone. 

No, what Crowley hated the most about Rome was all the work he had to put in. It was completely exhausting. One minute you’re tempting a common street hermit then the next thing you know, you’ve got to tempt this other wealthy bloke who’s got an entirely different sin set out for him. There’s no pattern that Crowley could just latch on to and make his work easier. Typical humans with their unpredictability. Great business for Hell, horrible time for a particularly tired demon. 

And the worst part is that Hell won’t even check up on him! The audacity! He’s here doing all this work while one or two demons pop around on some other part of the world, not having to deal with Rome, and then they get to sit out for the next few centuries. What’s the point of doing all this work if no one is there to stand around looking all impressed? Aziraphale just gives him a pout and some radio silence for a few years, decades even. Still, anything beats doing paperwork in the stuffy corridors of Down There.

Egypt is his favorite province. Always has been, even when it was just Egypt without all these Romans everywhere. The weather, the heat, the architecture, all of it was just great. 

However, there was a special reason Crowley hated this particular year, more than the last few decades with all the current world events and Rome and such. 

Crowley hated it when he stood outside the collapsing stone building, it’s beautifully carved and etched columns engulfed in flames that roared for days until the demon couldn’t take it anymore and made it rain to cool down the fire. He’d just sat there, kneeled, in great disbelief. A few days later, as he was drinking in a nearby town’s bar, he thought how he shouldn’t be surprised. Humans did most of the work for him, usually, but the burning of a library? The thought made Crowley’s skin crawl as he felt ghostly flames dance around him. 

So, after a week of constant drinking (didn’t matter where or what), he’d ended up crossing the Nile to reach Giza and her beautiful pyramids. He really could just fly up to the top but he found it more exciting and distracting to climb the large structures and leap from tip to tip. The locals never noticed him, he would make sure of that. At one point, however, he dropped the magic so that at least someone could catch him and maybe tell him off. Gives his little vacation some more adventure. 

What he hadn’t planned was that the person to catch him would be none other than spot-on, always-so-sharply-dressed, bubbly Aziraphale. 

Crowley almost fell off the pyramid of Khufu but unleashed his wings to catch himself and then swooped over to his angel. He was sure Aziraphale heard the swooshing of wings before he actually saw the demon but nonetheless, Crowley landed gracefully next to the angel. He most definitely did not stumble with his landing, no, it was the most graceful landing he’s ever done. 

“Crawly!” exclaimed Aziraphale, a flash of a smile before he arched his eyebrow and asked, “Whatever are you here for?”

Crowley, who granted was still drunk, slurred, “Skipping steps on the pyramids. You? Miracle working, I suppose?”

“Oh, no, not exactly.” Aziraphale looked down sadly at his hands. He was dressed in a white linen robe, gold sandals with angel wings on the heels, and a simple headdress to protect against the intense heat. 

“The library.” Crowley’s wings hung limp at his sides, like a sad cat with floppy ears. 

Aziraphale’s face immediately turned to one of anger. “Yes. Not like you’d care. Your lot obviously did this.” 

Crowley gaped at the angel. “Are you serious? That’s what you think?”

“Well, of course! Only demons would do something as horrible as burn down one of the monuments of mass human cooperation and knowledge like that.”

“Fine then.” Crowley unfolded his wings and turned to fly away.

“Where are you going?”

“Gonna burn down another library, just for you, angel,” Crowley grumbled. 

Aziraphale scoffed but softened his voice. “Your lot doesn’t have to mean you, Crawly.” 

“I’m sorry, what?”

The angel held his head high. “You heard what I said. I’m not repeating. Please do sober as well.” 

A part of Crowley wondered if he really should sober up. The world was much easier to navigate when you didn’t worry about near anything. Another part wondered if he should tell Aziraphale that he decided to change his name (maybe later, he supposed). The much more awake and alert part of him wondered if the angel’s anger was even directed towards him. Maybe he was just as angry with the world as Crowley was. Damn mortals. 

Ultimately, he decided to sober up. Within a few seconds, he was catching more details on the angel. Like how Aziraphale had sunken eyes that matched with Crowley or like how the angel’s curled hair had grown out, if only slightly. Crowley thought it looked nice, even if it was mostly hidden under a headdress. 

“Bloody civil war did this,” Crowley said, hissing through his teeth. 

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. So, the demon continued, “I’ll bloody kill Caesar for this. Can’t believe he’s actually gotten so much support.”

The angel swallowed. “That would have been my fault.”

“What?” 

“He was very charismatic.”

“Angel, I cannot believe-”

“I know, I know.” Aziraphale looked like he was on the verge of tears, but his hands were out of control, rubbing against each other as they fidgeted with the various rings and braces Aziraphale had on his hands. “He was very popular with the poor, I thought he was okay.” 

“He’s a  _ politician _ , in  _ Rome _ .” 

“And I know what Rome did to Carthage all those years ago but I thought that maybe if Caesar just happened to have a few more successful campaigns here and there that he might be better for the Republic-”

“Angel-”

“But then he got to Alexandria and I- I didn’t  _ know _ , Crawly.” 

“ _ Aziraphale _ .” The angel looked up and was met with Crowley’s ever-so golden, slitted eyes that just looked at him  _ so  _ softly. They reminded him of the reassuring aura the demon seemed to leak when they first met in Eden. “Humans have got all the free will they could possibly want. Caesar won’t be one of yours.”

“He reached the city because of-”

“He reached the city because he was planning to reach it either way. He’s a Roman conqueror, angel.” 

“I suppose.” Out in the desert, the stars were as clear as they could and should be, showing off a magnitude of colors. They flashed and flickered in such a way that if you stared hard enough they seemed to be winking playfully at you, calling for you to join them in the worlds beyond the peace and wars, oceans and lands, forests and skies of the Earth and its incredible messiness. 

A demon and an angel stood in silence, surveying the night sky, when a gilded arrow shot across the sky, leaving a trail of colors that faded as it went by. It flew through like the sun chariot of Helios (Aziraphale loved the Greeks so dearly-- they always had such fascinating stories), cutting through the stars like a sword. 

“It’s a falling star,” Crowley said helpfully. “Rare occurrence.”

“It can’t actually be a falling star.” Aziraphale squinted his eyes.

“No, it’s actually a falling meteor in the atmosphere.” 

“It’s very beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Then Crowley decided that he had another chance to keep talking so he did. “You can make a wish upon it.”

“Upon what?”

“The falling star. The humans haven’t learned to practice that yet but I’d expect they will soon.”

“Sounds delightful. Very human, if that makes any sense. Very…” Aziraphale searched for the right word. Finally, he came up with, “It’s very hopeful.”

“There’s probably parts of it falling on us right now. Even though they’re meteorites, most of it is dust. Or just so small that they’re basically dust.” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Crowley wondered if he was even listening anymore and if he had retracted to some divine mental plane. Then he wondered if those even existed. They might. Even so, Crowley continued talking. At some point, he’d gotten to talk about the chemical make-up of the shooting star they’d seen. 

“The yellow was because of the iron, you see, which is most common in meteors since they’re made of metals and stuff. Then you’ve got some red colors that are caused by-”

“I made one.”

“A falling star?” Crowley asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

“No, a wish.”

“Oh.” Crowley mentally kicked himself for even thinking Aziraphale was with him at some point, a long time ago, among the stars. “Mind sharing?”

“Only if you make one too.” Aziraphale beamed slyly. Crowley panicked, fearing he was rubbing off on the angel. Then he realized that it didn’t matter much.

“I don’t think so, angel.” 

“Then I won’t tell.” 

“Fine.” Crowley closed his eyes and pretended to make a wish. Well, he pretended to himself as well. Then, he opened them. “You first, angel.”

“I’d like someplace to store books. Not just any books. Good books. Maybe a nice cozy place where I can enjoy food as well. Settle down as I work.” Aziraphale turned to Crowley and prompted, “Crawly.”

“I’d want to sleep for a century. Or maybe a few several.” Crowley smirked. What was left unsaid was  _ I want to spend eternity with you, angel.  _

“That can’t possibly be your greatest wish.” 

“Nah. Just one of them.” 

Crowley nudged cautiously towards the angel, testing the waters to see how close he could get without Aziraphale reprimanding him. Once he saw the angel made no move, he stretched his hand towards his companion and let his wings unfold to their full length. Aziraphale seemed to get the message and carefully took Crowley’s hand, as if it would burn him, and yelped when Crowley launched both of them towards the sky, landing on the tip of the Great Pyramid, which was hundreds upon hundreds of meters away. 

Aziraphale moved his feet to stabilize himself and after he saw the demon casually sit down, he did too. “You know, I’ve always wondered how you know so much about the stars.” 

Crowley stiffened and for the first time ever, Aziraphale saw him blink. “I pick up from the locals.” 

“You knew about the constellations long before the Egyptians, Crawly. And the Babylonians and the Greeks. And the Mesopotamians for that matter.” 

“Funny, ain’t it?” Crowley snorted.

“Really, Crawly, what aren’t you telling me?”

Crowley rolled his eyes but a small smile escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he gasped, groaning at the same time.

“Something wrong, angel?”

“No, just,” and Aziraphale quickly stood up as if looking for something. He almost lost his balance and tipped towards the edge of the limestone steps. Then, he miracurously withdrew a small rectangular object with no fancy flashes and only a small  _ pop _ sound as it appeared in his hands. It was covered in an ash-stained beige sheet and as the angel unwrapped it, Crowley could see it was a stone tablet with bundles of papyrus stacked on top of it, all tightly secured with slightly burned string. 

The angel reached out to Crowley. “I’d managed to recover a few writings. Predictions, maps, general local astronomical knowledge.”

Crowley took the gift with tender fingers and brushed off the ash from the papers. He read them over and got the general sense that they were star predictions for planetary alignments. The tablet was a drawing of how the Great Pyramid was built to line up with the stars and the cardinal directions. But some of the bottom pages spoke about the location of the Duat, where the Egyptian gods lived, which was in the general region of Orion and Sirius on the summer solstice. Crowley laughed.

Aziraphale looked at him strangely. So Crowley explained, “The humans really don’t need anything from us, do they? They figured all this out on their own.”

Then, he mumbled something about how he didn’t even teach scholars about the solstices or planetary alignments. But Aziraphale was already talking. “I should be going. The people of Alexandria don’t have much of a dock anymore and that desert is treacherous to travel in.” 

“Should I say thank you or…?” Crowley was undoing the black shawl he was wearing to create a pouch in which to carry the gifts. 

“I think best not,” said Aziraphale with a nervous smile. “Wouldn’t want to cause trouble.” 

“I should be getting back to tempting then, I suppose.”

“Yes. I suppose you should.”

“Won’t tell you where, angel, or you’ll just stop me,” Crowley smirked, heaving the tablet and the papers over his shoulder where they rest in comfortably. 

Aziraphale smiled and laughed, only just a little bit, but Crowley could tell the angel was already softening up to him. It made his heart melt, not by a lot, but the demon would rather be sent back Downstairs than admit it. That sparkle Aziraphale always had in his aqueous blue eyes since they met in Eden was back and Crowley grinned to himself as the angel flew away, considering the night a job well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i really like talking about the romans


	3. they don’t bark and they don’t bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale could only stare at the beauty. He let out a soft gasp and breathed slowly. “What… What are they, Crowley?”
> 
> Crowley beamed, “Northern lights, angel.“
> 
> “They’re beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you haven’t noticed, all titles are from Dancing in the Moonlight by King Harvest
> 
> it’s a great song to listen to when you’re feeling like dancing

**The High Seas, 1721 AD**

When Aziraphale came to, he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. He was blindfolded-- or maybe it was just really dark-- the ground was rocking, and it smelled an awful lot of  _ salt. _

Of course.

He was on a ship. 

It didn’t surprise him all that much, in retrospect. He was supposed to be on a ship, except not blindfolded, which to him seemed very inconvenient. Last he remembered, he was on a Portuguese navy ship, patrolling for those dreadful pirates he kept hearing so much about. If you asked him, he would have much preferred to stay out of it (politics are so very messy) but Heaven specifically assigned him to keep up with the changing times so, to the seas it was. He had to brush up on his Portuguese either way. 

Aziraphale also noticed he was bound at his wrists and when he tried to tug on the ropes, he felt that he was chained up to some nearby wall. What a bother. But when he tried to miracle himself out, he found that he  _ couldn’t. _

Memories of an explosion, cannons, and a fleet of hostile ships flashed in his mind and he complained with a groan, hitting his forehead with his fists. He’d almost gotten discoporated and used up his energy on it.  _ Bloody hell.  _

Then, Aziraphale heard voices approaching, something that sounded like a door being opened, and footsteps circling him. Hands yanked the blindfold off his face and the world seemed much brighter than it was supposed to be. The windows cut out in the wood of the ship brought in rays of sun that illuminated the room, particles of dust and salt floating around aimlessly. A group of rough-looking men, clearly toughened by fighting experience, shook him and at one point, shoved him against a wall. 

A man in a torn-up Spanish uniform eyed Aziraphale with what the angel could identify as resent; a pent-up anger in his eyes suddenly made Aziraphale much more annoyed than he was before, very afraid, and very curious (which was a very dangerous thing for an angel). 

The man spoke to Aziraphale in Spanish but ever since Crowley told him about the Spanish Inquisition, he hadn’t visited in a long time. So all he said in return was, in Spanish, “Pardon?”

The man growled and in a gruff voice, repeated, “Have you got a name, wanker?”

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before deciding, slowly saying, “Ezra?” 

The man laughed. “A strange name for a Portuguese.” 

The angel gave a nervous smile as the men around him laughed in unison. When the noise died down, Aziraphale added quickly, moving his bound hands around, “I’m not actually Portuguese.” 

“And I’m not actually a Spanish officer but yet, here we are, no?” 

“Please, really, I mean no harm.”  _ Thump! _ went Aziraphale’s body as it hit the floor, the left side of his face red, hot, and burning as he tried to blink away the pain. More laughter roared around the wooden room and he glanced up to see that blasted pirate smirk down at him with a sense of pride and glee in his dark eyes. 

“ _ Mierda, _ ” said the man. “Get up!” 

He grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels of his blue, woollen coat. Then, he kneed him forcefully in the stomach and, as Aziraphale fell down, reared in to throw a few punches. The angel had braced himself so that it didn’t hurt as much but  _ God _ , what he would give to have some excess energy for a few miracles. 

But nothing came. Probably because they heard shouting from outside the door to the room and all the pirates froze. 

“What the bloody dickens is going on down here?” the voice yelled, slamming open the door, brandishing a shiny saber, pointing it toward the men. 

Aziraphale couldn’t believe his eyes. He stumbled to his feet, sputtering senseless noises of irritation, disbelief, and-- somehow-- relief, all at once. He asked incredulously, “Crowley?” 

Crowley, wearing an overly-dramatic red hat with a large, puffy feather, slid his dark glasses down. His face brightened up. He sheathed his sword and threw open his arms. “Angel! Fancy seeing you here!”

He turned to his men briefly. “No worries, lads, he’s with me.” 

“Sir, he was on a Portuguese ship,” said the Spanish man, standing straight like a soldier. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. “Were you?”

Aziraphale huffed. “Yes, until you came and blew it smithereens! Honestly, Crowley, it nearly discorporated me.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley with some other inexplicable noises. He shrugged apologetically and snapped his fingers, releasing Aziraphale from the ropes. The angel rubbed his wrists and glared at the men, having a newfound confidence in himself, smirking as he fixed his shirt’s lace ruffles. The feeling was replaced by sudden worry and concern over Crowley using miracles in front of humans like that. The demon caught on and said, “They don’t mind. Nor care for that matter.” 

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley began to exit and beckoned the angel to follow, suspicious eyes trailing behind them. The deck of the ship was vast, spacious, and extremely organized. Crates were stacked in huddled corners, neatly categorized, and anything that was on the deck seemed to have a place. There was no mess, no clutter, but there were a whole lot of mismatched men. Even their torn clothes seemed to have been specifically designed to be torn in only certain places, so that they looked fashionable but still like, well, pirates. 

Crowley was showing off a long black coat, with a red waistcoat and a golden  _ insanely  _ low-cut undershirt with slightly darker swerving lines possibly designed to look like serpents. His breeches and shoes were black with white socks. He whistled. “So, here on business, angel?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be patrolling for pirates.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a bright smile on his face. “However, it seems to me that these pirates are very wily and nearly discorporated me.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Crowley said, walking over to a few crates near the bow of the ship. He opened them and picked out a vein of grapes, offering them to Aziraphale. The angel took them gladly. 

“So,” Aziraphale said in between eating the grapes one by one, “You’re a captain.”

“Yup.”

“With a ship of your own. Must be hectic.” 

Crowley laughed loudly. “Not just a ship, angel. Whole fleet. You’d be amazed how easy it is to pick up new recruits.” 

“A  _ fleet? _ ” asked Aziraphale, almost choking on a grape. “Up to no good, then? Raiding ports, villages?” 

“Oh, no, not that much,” Crowley said with a smile. “Only occasionally. That Portuguese ship you were on? They’d been tracking us for quite a while. Frankly, the crew grew bored of the chase.” 

“How many men do you even have?”

Crowley thought for a moment, opening the door to the captain’s quarters as he did. “Can’t be more than two thousand. That includes the women too. But they’re on a different ship.” 

Aziraphale looked at him quizzingly. Crowley explained further, waving his hand dismissively, “From the ports we ‘raid.’ They much rather prefer sailing than whatever miserable life they had before.” What Crowley left unsaid was that most of the women were saved from horrible living conditions, most as children, and from horrible domestic lives. 

“They could be nuns,” offered Aziraphale. 

“Well, then I guess this demon accomplished his temptation,” Crowley said slyly, moving behind his desk, using a hand to signal Aziraphale to sit. “Get comfortable, angel. No land in sight for hundreds of miles.” 

Aziraphale sat down on a crate, crossing his legs, with his hands clasped in front of him. Crowley took out a small map, settling it on his desk. He took a compass and began his work in calculations. 

The bedroom was just as neat and spacious as the deck. Strange, it looked smaller on the outside. Aziraphale paid no mind to that. A large world map hung on the wall behind the desk, complete with an accurate depiction of Antarctica and the Arctic, the Americas, Australia, and even the smallest of islands spread out around the world. The angel figured that the demon just used his immortal knowledge to get such a perfect map of the world.

Plastered around the walls of the bedroom-- categorized, of course-- were multiple drawings of stars and constellations, all in faded red ink as if they’ve been there a long time. In the corner of the room, hanging over the bed, was a familiar stone tablet. Aziraphale smiled to himself. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started. Crowley barely glanced up but that was enough to acknowledge the angel. So he continued, “Where exactly are we headed?” 

“Got somewhere to be, angel?” Crowley teased with a smirk, a quill rhythmically scratching the map and papers on his desk. 

“Ah, well, England in fact. Only went down to Portugal for a quick lunch. Found myself being assigned to patrol for wickedness in the high seas.”

Crowley stopped, raising his glasses to his head. “You’re telling me you went to Portugal for  _ lunch? _ And Heaven gave you orders from there?” 

“Afraid so, my dear boy.” Aziraphale beamed when he saw Crowley actually get riled up from his own shenanigans. It was quite amusing. “What  _ are _ you doing, anyways?”

“Charting.”

“What?”

“Charting stars. Really, angel, you expect me to understand human cartography?” Crowley flung his arm angrily in the general direction of the wall map. 

“It seems simple to me.”

“Aziraphale, if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you’ve picked up a map and known exactly where you were with no signposts, then I might as well just owe you one.” 

Aziraphale stumbled for words, not wanting to admit defeat. When he came with no answer, Crowley sighed dramatically and put his quill down. “Did you get your food in Portugal?”

“Hm? Oh, no, unfortunately. Heaven called.” 

Crowley nodded and stood up. He took his hat and long coat off, hanging them on a rack, and said as he walked over to the door, holding it open, “How about lunch then? Fair weather, calm seas, my treat.”

Aziraphale genuinely thought it over. He made a humming noise in his throat and after a moment, gave a small smile before scrunching up his nose in such a way that Crowley found it adorable. “Why not?”

As it turned out-- and Aziraphale realized this as he stepped out onto the deck-- fair weather in Crowley’s book meant cold temperatures that were nice but not so as the demon was shivering violently, looking rather embarrassed by it. 

“My dear, I think you need a coat,” Aziraphale said, concern painted over his face. Crowley nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around himself. He retreated to his quarters and came out a moment later with a thicker, woollen coat. 

“It wasn’t this cold out before,” noted the angel, trailing behind the ship’s captain as he barked orders at the crew. 

“You think?--  _ Get me some drinks here, now! _ \-- We were last wandering the Indian Ocean.”

“The Indian--?  _ Crowley! _ Where are we?”

Crowley stiffened and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. “Er, well, based off the stars, I’d wager we’re near the Arctic.”

“ _ The Arctic--? _ ” Aziraphale started with a crack in his voice, widening his eyes in pure disbelief. There were icebergs that we’re dangerously close to the ship but the angel figured that either the helmsman was extremely talented or the ship was a complete miracle. “Good Lord, how did we end up in the Arctic?”

Aziraphale swore he saw something of a blush on Crowley’s tan skin. “Ngk. Stupid ship.”

“Crowley, did you  _ enchant _ the ship?” 

“Yep,” the demon said. Yes, the ship was a complete miracle. “Don’t know why it’s the blasted Arctic though.” 

Crowley did in fact know why they were in the Arctic Seas. He knew, but would never admit, for fear of possible rejection from his beloved angel. You see, when he first built up his pirate fleet, he already had a rather emotional attachment to the main ship, which he named “St. Leonardo.” He would also not admit that the name also had sentimental meaning for him. Even so, Crowley had thought of a nice lunch with Aziraphale and the boat took them to someplace the demon found nice, which consequently meant the Arctic for some bizarre reason unbeknownst to Crowley. 

The demonic pirate took hold of the main mast and twirled around it to pull down the rope ladder. He started to climb and hoped the angel would do the same, which he did, and when they reached the crow’s nest, a table was miraculously waiting for them, all prepared and ready. There was even food and wine served (although Crowley had taken a liking for rum). 

Aziraphale sat down, Crowley doing the same, and they both sat in silence in the cold winter night. 

The angel cleared his throat, gesturing towards the food. “Shall we?” 

Crowley nodded, using his fork to pick at the cooked lamb before them, swirling his bottle of rum in his other hand. “Won’t be up to your standards, angel.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Aziraphale dug into his plate, eating slowly so as to savor the food. He’d only glimpsed down for only a second and when he looked back up, Crowley’s plate was already cleaned out. The demon was sitting back, waiting patiently, downing the rest of his rum in one go. 

Above them, the pitch-black night sky blanketed them in shimmering dots, the dying embers of exploding stars. In such clarity, the faint colors of far away nebulas and galaxies glowed in the spaces in between the stars.

“Captain!” Crowley peered his head over the edge of the crow’s best. One of the pirates from below was pointing towards an oncoming storm of swirling green hues. It was a dragon with purple claws, faded into a mist of lime-colored stardust, dancing like no tomorrow, like nothing else mattered except illuminating the sky. Transparent red-tinted walls seemed to cage the green lights, directing their path with stubborn orders. Blurred lines of a distant lilac streaked the night sky. 

Aziraphale could only stare at the beauty. He’d never been this far up, to the top of the Earth. He let out a soft gasp and breathed slowly. “What… What are they, Crowley?” 

Crowley beamed, “Northern lights, angel. Aurora borealis, named after the Roman goddess of the dawn. Humans think they’re electrically charged particles. Ionization, solar winds, and such. Well, they don’t know that yet but… Soon, they will.” 

“What are they really then?”

“They really are just electricity but they’ve got a lot of fame for superstition. I personally prefer the Scottish folklore. Says they’re sky warriors having an eternal battle. Angels and such.” Crowley smiled slyly. He knew why the ship chose the Arctic now. Sneaky little bastard, this ship. 

“They’re beautiful,” said Aziraphale, not wanting to give Crowley the satisfaction of smiling at his joke. 

“Loads of other planets have got them too. I’ve heard Uranus has got some very strange auroras there. The magnetic field there is vertical but the planet rotates on its side!” Crowley laughed. The demon had a sparkle in his golden eyes that Aziraphale had never seen before. “Honestly, angel, which archangel looked at the Solar System and thought to make Uranus?”

Aziraphale scoffed but even so let out a chuckle.  _ Satan _ , either the angel manifested a halo or Crowley was going insane because Aziraphale was an absolute radiance of sunlight.

“You know,” the angel tried but stopped, as if considering his words. “You know, I’ve always said you’re rather kind.” Then he added, finishing the rest of the wine, “For a demon, of course.” 

Crowley grimaced. He swallowed and then played it off casually (as casually as he could make it) when Aziraphale looked at him strangely, not the same look he does whenever he tries to poke at the demon (Satan, that smugness was extremely adorable). 

So, Crowley attempted at a laugh but it came out a little too stiff. “Yeah, for a demon. ‘Course, angel.” 

In truth, even though he was a demon, often times it felt like he wasn’t. Often times it felt like he was just  _ him,  _ among the humans, with an angel for an Earthly buddy. No Heaven, no Hell, no Almighty. Only him, the stars, the humans, and his blessed angel. 

Obviously, there were some times where he had to remember that he can't be himself, usually when Hell calls him or assigns him some mission or two, but then there were times like these. Times like these where Aziraphale believed so wholeheartedly in their sides, taking his high horse even if he didn’t mean it, and Crowley felt small. Not that it mattered. He was a demon after all. And demons. Don’t. Feel.


	4. everybody’s feelin’ warm and right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley spoke first. “The humans came up with a clever meaning for constellation. They even have a whole mythology around them. Not like the cultural stuff we know from before. It’s this thing called astrology.”
> 
> “Hasn’t it been around for a few millennia, my dear? Since the Babylonians?” Aziraphale loved the Babylonians. They were very clever. 
> 
> “Well, yeah.” Crowley pouted. “But I get the feeling that it's going to be a new modern trend soon. You know how humans are.”
> 
> “Oh, yes. They love the supernatural.” Aziraphale beamed, attempting to put on a winning smile for Crowley to appreciate.

**London, England, 1941 AD**

“So,” started Crowley, peering his head over the dashboard of the Bentley, “Nazis.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know.” 

“Good deeds and all, I’m sure, angel.” Crowley smirked, navigating the car over small piles of rubble in the streets of London. Aziraphale’s gaze stayed on Crowley but then he tossed his eyes elsewhere, anywhere really. The strange fluttering in this corporeal body of his has rendered him distrusting of himself. There was always some feeling whenever he was with Crowley but never quite like this. 

“When did you get a car?” asked Aziraphale, attempting to drive the conversation somewhere else, mostly to distract himself.

“1926. A beauty. Took a miracle and an arm to get her from new.” The car’s engine roared in presumed appreciation to Crowley’s words.

London was unrecognizable. Where there were once proud English streets, now contained only rubble, ghosts of the buildings that stood there before them. It was bleak, it was dreary, it was _not_ England. And rather unfortunately, for England anyways, it was a clear night. And clear nights meant precise aiming from the Germans in the Blitz. 

Aziraphale sunk in the Bentley’s passenger seat. The grey leather was strangely comfortable in the cold night. And he was absolutely spent. The past few months consisted of families miraculously escaping bombs that surely should’ve killed them and tracking down Nazi double agents. Not to mention the Jewish families and gay couples huddled in the bookshop. Aziraphale had to miracle extra space and so far, no one has questioned it. The terror of being found overpowered any genuine curiosity. 

The angel undid his tie and stuffed it into his coat’s interior pockets. He figured that Crowley had heating in the Bentley or else the snake-like demon wouldn’t be wearing such thin layers of clothing. 

“You alright, angel?” Crowley looked at him and through his glasses, Aziraphale could see the concern. The car kept going. 

“Oh yes. Just tired. Miracles, you know how they are.” 

“Lots of good deeds, indeed,” Crowley said with a thrum of his fingers on the wheel. 

“I’d imagine you’re getting a break from all this.” 

“Humans are so clever, even when it comes to sinning. I’m telling you, they’ll put us demons out of a job.” 

“You could, I suppose, lighten my load then, couldn’t you? Not much tempting needing done, but quite the opposite for blessings.” 

The Bentley screeched to a stop. “Absolutely not.” 

“The Arrangement,” sang Aziraphale with a knowing smile on his face, mimicking the way Crowley would sometimes say it. 

“No, angel.” 

Aziraphale huffed. “For all the trouble you go through to convince _me_.” 

“This is different.” 

“How so, you wily serpent?” 

“Because.” Crowley gripped the Bentley’s wheel. Aziraphale almost missed it but Crowley’s eyes seemed glisten. The demon tried again. “Because.” 

Aziraphale waited patiently while the demon tried to find his words. 

“Because you just can’t kill kids,” Crowley hissed out quickly, flicking his forked tongue angrily, banging his fists against the car’s wheel. 

For the second time that night, Aziraphale gaped, mouth wide open. 

“Crowley,” he said, shutting his mouth and putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“Let’s just get on with it. Where to? The bookshop?” 

The angel thought it over. Then he said, “No, I reckon it’s surrounded by angry Nazis wondering where their books of prophecy are.”

“Then where?” Crowley asked, irritation in his voice. 

Aziraphale blinked and retreated his hand. He bit his lips and said hesitatingly, “How about a picnic? My treat.” 

“A _what_?” The irritation in Crowley’s voice completely disappeared, replaced by utter surprise and amusement. “You want a picnic in the middle of the Blitz?” 

“I just heard of a lovely spot near the Thames that the Germans seem to keep missing.” 

Crowley smiled, mischief blazing in his golden eyes, stomped on the accelerator, going 90 miles per hour in the destroyed streets of the city. It wasn’t so bad until they hit the first pothole. Crowley hollered and laughed as Aziraphale held onto the car’s dashboard for dear life. (Seriously, it’s a miracle Crowley hasn’t killed himself with the way he drives.) 

Crowley parked the Bentley on what was left of the bridge hovering over the frozen Thames. When Aziraphale got out, the cold had died down a little and his coat was thick enough to provide some warmth. He looked over to spot Crowley snapping his shivering fingers, miracling a thick woolen black coat like the one Aziraphale remembers from the last time he’d seen him 80 years ago in St. James. Even then, Crowley seemed to have not been satisfied and a big scarf appeared around his neck. 

“Can’t believe you want to eat in the middle of an air raid.” Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets, even though he had put gloves on as well. 

“Well, I don’t want to eat as much as look at those beautiful stars,” Aziraphale said, pointing to the clear night sky. “Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?” 

“Ngk,” Crowley muttered, limping (Aziraphale found this strange but asked nothing of it) down the stairs to the shores of the river. Aziraphale followed behind him, pleased with himself and with a skip in his step, because what Crowley doesn’t say he expresses with what he does. 

The demon flopped down onto the snow and planted his feet (which Aziraphale now noticed were bare, as Crowley stopped imagining that he had snakeskin shoes) deep into it. He snapped his fingers and the sunglasses came off. 

“Are your feet alright, my dear?” 

“Could be better,” said Crowley with a sniff. Then he smiled and looked at Aziraphale, who laid down next to him. “Little burned but that’s what I get for keeping you out of trouble.” 

“Shame I can’t heal them for you.” Typically, any other type of wound would be easy to patch up. But when it comes between holy ground and demons, nothing could be done until it heals naturally. 

Crowley moved his head in agreement. He wrapped his arms behind his head and took in a deep breath of the cold night air. Aziraphale gazed at the starry void above and noticed a bright star from long ago. 

“Isn’t that Polaris?” He pointed to the star in question. It was the same as six millennia ago: the world revolving around it as if six thousand years haven’t passed, as if Germany wasn’t conquering Europe and murdering millions, as if nothing has happened ever since Eden. 

Crowley acknowledged the star so Aziraphale continued, “I looked into it. The star, I mean. The humans named the constellation that holds it as Ursa Minor.” He turned his head to look at Crowley. “I don’t suppose you had much to do with that, my dear?” 

“Hm,” Crowley said, shifting into a more comfortable position as his arms fell asleep. “Some demonic inspiration here and there. I had nothing to do with Ursa Major though.” 

“I would have imagined. You always have been fascinated with the world’s beyond.” 

“Angel, weird question, but,” Crowley tried to sit up and found it too much effort, “You ever been to the stars?” 

Aziraphale did successfully sit up and stared down at the demon. He racked his memory. “No, I don’t believe I ever did.” 

“Oh, that’s a shame. Their more impressive up-close.” There was adoration in Crowley’s voice that made him sound so soft and gentle. And Aziraphale supposed his demon really is soft and gentle, under that suave persona he uses as a personal shield. 

Then, realization hit Aziraphale like a truck. “Crowley. My dear boy, did you… Did you make the stars? When you were an angel?” 

It was dark and Crowley’s glasses didn’t make it anymore helpful to see his eyes but his voice was enough to tell that a deep sadness swelled in him. Finally, he said in a small voice, “Yeah.” 

Aziraphale merely nodded. They sat like that, in pure silence, as the overcast of shimmering beacons in the sky traveled around the world. The distant sound of sirens and high-pitched whirring seemed like to be in another faraway planet. 

Crowley spoke first. “The humans came up with a clever meaning for constellation.” 

“Ah, yes. It means ‘set with stars’ in Latin, doesn’t it?” Even if it may be a dead language, Aziraphale liked to brush up on it every once and awhile.

The demon nodded. “The Greeks named most of them. Mythological creatures and heroes and such. Surely you know them.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “I don’t believe that anyone doesn’t.” Then he went on to explain without prompting. “Dead heroes that their gods took pity on and put in the stars. Defeated monsters that were so challenging and great that they painted them in the sky to showcase their excellence.” 

“Exactly. And you know, they got most of the names right too. Different translations, of course.” Then he laughed. “The humans even have a whole mythology around them. Not like the cultural stuff we know from before. It’s this thing called astrology.” 

“Hasn’t it been around for a few millennia, my dear? Since the Babylonians?” Aziraphale loved the Babylonians. They were very clever. 

“Well, yeah.” Crowley pouted. “But I get the feeling that it's going to be a new modern trend soon. You know how humans are.” 

“Oh, yes. They love the supernatural.” Aziraphale beamed, attempting to put on a winning smile for Crowley to appreciate. 

Crowley scratches the back of his head but found it difficult to do so when he was laying down so he gave up. “It was all a joke anyways. The thirteen zodiacs. Just like the dinosaurs.” 

“Aren’t there twelve?” Aziraphale asked, confused. 

Crowley only smiled. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“So the Earth is a Libra then?” 

“Oh yeah.” Crowley shuffled some snow with his feet. Even though he was shivering, it made his burns feel numb and nice. He frowned. “Felt like a cruel joke from Her.” 

“Because you helped make the stars that Libra has?” 

“Angel, you pick out any star and only the most impressive ones I made.” 

“Very arrogant, my dear boy.” 

Crowley shrugged. A bomb sounded too close for comfort. “‘M a demon. It’s in the job description.” 

“Sirs?” A demon and an angel both whipped around to find a small child staring up at them with wide, bugged-out eyes. Aziraphale slowly got up. Crowley scrambled to find his sunglasses in the deep snow. 

“Are you lost?” Aziraphale asked in a quiet voice, cautiously approaching the little kid. The child shrugged and looked down at the snowy ground, shuffling their legs against each other. Their overly-large coat pooled up behind them. Crowley ended up miracling his glasses on. 

Aziraphale crouched down in front of the kid, placing a gentle hand on their shoulder. “Do you have a name?” 

“Ella.” 

“Where’s your family, Ella?” 

“I don’t know.” Ella rubbed her coat-covered hand against her face cheek. “The bad men took them.” 

Something broke in Aziraphale’s heart. Something always did whenever he found new refugees. Usually, he found them before their families could be separated. But this is a lonely child with no family, no guardians, no one else. 

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley crouched down next to him. Ella pulled away and almost fell over backwards unless Crowley didn’t catch her, his hand not tugging on her at all, just enough to hold her from tripping. No force at all. 

Ella seemed to have decided he was alright because of this, even though he was a strange man with strange eyes dressed in all black with no shoes. 

“You got a home, kid?” 

Ella nodded. She pointed in the general direction behind her. There was nothing but rubble to be seen. Crowley swallowed. He let go of her. “My friend here’s got a lovely bookshop. You like books?” 

Another nod. Ella reached her arms up, the coat sleeves falling back to her shoulders, her hands make grappling gestures. Crowley looked at Aziraphale, turned the look into a glare, shook his head, and lifted Ella up, settling her comfortably in her arms. 

They walked silently to the Bentley. Crowley struck up conversation with Ella, telling her all about the stars, the sky, and the worlds above. She said he sounded like those fantasy books she loves, the ones with the impossible concepts like machines that travel in time and space. Crowley said nothing’s impossible if you imagine enough. Then, he ended his part with, “But this is all our little secret, ain’t it?” 

Can’t let humanity develop faster than they need to. 

When they arrived at the bookshop, Ella eagerly took off to enter it. Aziraphale followed close behind but stopped as she ran deeper into the maze of bookshelves. 

He looked back at the Bentley and considered all that he knew as he eyed the diamonds that Crowley put up there so long ago, before anything had a name. He put his bottom lip out and furrowed his brow. Crowley rounded the black car and sucked in a breath. “Angel-?”

“You know, Crowley.” Aziraphale tapped his thumbs against each other nervously but also somewhat tenderly. “I’ve always said that you really are quite a kind demon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crowley interactions with children? yes please 
> 
> also, thank you guys for all the kind words! y’all are the best <3


	5. when that moon is big and bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’ve done it, angel,” Crowley breathed. He was practically radiating, his body buzzing from excitement. 
> 
> “Is that… Is that the moon?” Aziraphale asked, mouth open as he slunk down onto the leather couch. Crowley joined him by throwing himself on the other side. 
> 
> “Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Buzz Aldrin. NASA’s Apollo 11 mission. Those clever bastards,” said Crowley with a beaming grin. Now was when Aziraphale had noticed that the sunglasses were discarded and he figured that if Crowley were a cat, the black, slitted pupils of his blazing eyes would have dilated in adoration.

It was a quiet, calm night in Soho. Summer was in its height and the weather outside was fair but also very warm for England. Aziraphale had settled into a new American book that he’d recently acquired but has had no time to get into. It was a lovely book so far but it was thin and he was almost done with it. The back summarized the plot as something about a group of young boys in a classist town. It spoke about grease but there was nothing greasy about the book. Oh, unless you counted the Greasers as actually, entirely greasy. Humans and their peculiar words. 

A mug of cocoa was long forgotten and resting on the dark, wooden desk that the angel has taken the afternoon cleaning. It was a nice surface that used to be hidden under messy piles of parchment and books. Aziraphale’s coat hung limp on the coat rack, his bowtie displayed neatly with all the others (which was consequently messily inside a locked drawer). Suspenders were much more fashionable for summer nights, anyways. The bookshop lights were dim enough to appear closed and turned off from the outside. The musty smell of dust and old scripts lingered even after Aziraphale lit several vanilla-scented candles, scattered anywhere that had enough space to hold them. 

Aziraphale’s peaceful night-in was rudely interrupted by the ringing of his shop’s telephone. The angel groaned, setting the book down with a marker, and folded up his glasses next to it. Then, he stood up and waded over to the telephone stand, rolling his eyes as he picked it up. “A.Z. Fell and Co., although I’m afraid that we are most definitely closed-”

“Angel!” Aziraphale pulled back from the phone, staring at it with wide eyes, taking in a sharp breath. Crowley. Of course it was. The demon had kept radio silence for two whole years ever since their last conversation in ‘67 (1967, to be precise). In the old days, they could go decades without seeing each other but ever since that church incident during the Second World War, Aziraphale had rather enjoyed going out more with the demon. It became so frequent that seeing each other every few months was a common occurrence. 

Now, Aziraphale may typically be behind on the times but for Crowley to call him out of the blue like this? Surely, it must mean he needs some kind of help. How Aziraphale could help him was beyond him but clearly the call had a purpose. 

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale hadn’t meant to stammer. Truly, he didn’t. But then again, it was also _very_ late at night. Nearly four in the morning. And Crowley liked his sleep. 

“Angel, check the tellie.” Crowley’s voice was not-- well, it wasn’t an urgent plea for help but he was certainly shouting. The angel wanted to pull back again from the sudden noise of Crowley’s voice in his silent bookshop for a home. 

“Crowley, I haven’t got a tellie. Never had reason for one,” said Aziraphale, suddenly curious. _And it was also nearly dawn_ , which was left unsaid. 

“Then get over here to my flat.” A pause. “And get on with it! I haven’t all night!” The line went down. Aziraphale looked quizzingly at his telephone, hung up, and flexed his fingers. He wondered what was so urgent that Crowley wasn’t even in immediate danger. Unless…

Unless he was still trying to keep a cool persona with Aziraphale. The angel thought they’d already been over that a long time ago. 

So, with no fancy flashes of light or snapping of his fingers (merely a wave of his hand), Aziraphale appeared outside the door of Crowley’s apartment. He tried the knob, found it locked, and settled on knocking instead. For a moment, Aziraphale thought the demon wasn’t home and it was just all a joke but the black door swung wide open, revealing a gleeful Crowley, his fire-red hair having grown out again, clad in a black turtleneck. 

“Angel! Get in.” Crowley yanked Aziraphale’s arm forward, into the pristinely clean living room (if you could call it that) of the apartment. The angel had only been here once, back in 52’ (1952) when the building was built. It had undergone a massive makeover thanks to Crowley, making it look much more modern than it really is. 

“Crowley, what exactly is going on?” Aziraphale asked, dazed and confused by it all. Crowley gave a big serpent grin, one that seemed to stretch from both ends of his jaw, and pointed to the television at the other end of the room, snapping his fingers. “Don’t you see, angel? They’ve finally figured it out.” 

On the television, on the clear screen that was somehow not littered with as much static as most televisions did, was the colored images an episode of _Doctor Who_. However, as soon as Crowley snapped his fingers, the screen turned to the BBC newsroom. The anchor was as excited as they sounded (which was a lot, very, and tremendous). His voice faded out as the image switched to footage with a feedback-enriched voiceover of a man with an American accent. 

“One small step for man.” A pause. The television showed a man in a white space suit shuffling about. “One giant leap for mankind.” 

“They’ve done it, angel,” Crowley breathed. He was practically radiating, his body buzzing from excitement. 

“Is that… Is that the moon?” Aziraphale asked, mouth open as he slunk down onto the leather couch. Crowley joined him by throwing himself on the other side. 

“Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and Buzz Aldrin. NASA’s Apollo 11 mission. Those clever bastards,” said Crowley with a beaming grin. Now was when Aziraphale had noticed that the sunglasses were discarded and he figured that if Crowley were a cat, the black, slitted pupils of his blazing eyes would have dilated in adoration. 

“I don’t suppose you helped them in any way, my dear?” Aziraphale’s tone was a playful one, although his eyes were still glued to the television. He’d never seen anything of space before. It was embarrassing to admit, especially in front of Crowley, but he’d fallen behind in the times. He didn’t even remember that the Americans had a space race going on with the Soviets. Or that Americans had a thing with the Soviets in the first place. 

“Oh,” began Crowley, a drawl in his voice, “Well, I figured that if the Americans made it to the moon first, the Soviets would be pissed out of their minds. Rising tensions, you see.” 

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley went on to explain how he’s spent the last two years in America, pulling the strings here and there. Aziraphale told him about all the books he’s been reading. It was a nice conversation. Aziraphale never even noticed how Crowley winced and flinched when he tried to bring up what Crowley had done with the thermos of holy water from a couple years ago. Apparently, it was locked up and secure in a safe somewhere in Crowley’s flat. 

A few minutes later, Armstrong was joined by a fellow that the television anchors introduced as Buzz Aldrin. The void behind them as equally beautiful as it was terrifying. Three humans, with limited supplies and oxygen, braving a whole new frontier, marking them forever in human history. It was then that Aziraphale noticed something once again: humans will brave anything the universe threw at them and they will not go down until their dying breath has escaped them. They had unconditional love for anything and everything. It was a trait that neither Heaven nor Hell could hold. Ever. 

And Crowley must have realized it too, although Aziraphale figured that the demon must have thought it out a long time ago. Perhaps when he Fell. Perhaps sometime later. Perhaps even Before, when he up there, with Neil Armstrong, with NASA, with the stars, with the planets, with the nebulas, with the blackholes. With everything. 

Almost an hour passed. The television switched to emotional news anchors droning on and on about how NASA managed to achieve such a feat. At some point, they brought in a political specialist to talk about how the Soviet Union might respond. There was a long talk about mutually assured destruction and something about President Kennedy. The sun was peeking over the horizon, it’s orange rays penetrating the lilac sky. Aziraphale had relaxed his body and made himself much more comfortable, having thought Crowley dazed off right there on the couch, all the excitement leaving his veins, when the demon’s sleepy voice croaked, “The moon’s better up close. Less darkness, more light than the tellie lets you on to believe.”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale sat up and so did Crowley, whose fiery curls framed his face, shifting on his shoulders. 

“I just,” Crowley started as he put a hand up to cover his mouth, his elbows resting on his black jean covered knees. He continued, shrugging, “I just figured you’d like to see it. The real thing.” 

Aziraphale stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar. Crowley burrowed his head in his hands, his tan face flushed, and then he stood up. Rapidly, he sprout out, “I’m sorry. I know, it’s too fast. You can go if you’d like.” 

The demon felt a hand tug at his arm and he looked down to see Aziraphale with those big, blue eyes of his staring back up at him. The angel said, in a small and gentle voice, “No, no. I think it’s fine.” 

There was silence between the two of them, the television continued to drone on. Neither of them moved an inch. Just the steady rising and falling of their breathing chests. Eventually, Aziraphale pulled his hand back and his eyes looked Crowley over, flicking up and down. He was about to excuse himself to leave when Crowley finally thought some clever, witty phrase to say. Those gorgeous black wings of his appeared, catching glimmering moonlight in them and he nodded his head towards the open balcony doors. “How ‘bout a go, then, angel? Like old times.” 

Aziraphale happily raced him to the balcony, letting his pearly white wings flap behind him as he flew behind Crowley to the top of the apartment building. From that height, they could see the entirety of central London. The few cars passing by on the streets looked like ants but the big, bright moon above them beckoned them to her. 

Crowley took off first, once again, and they both flew until they forgot what gravity was. The funny thing about having supernatural wings that belong to supernatural beings that live in a supernatural world is that they are not limited to the laws of human physics. So, Crowley made touch-down on the dusty, grey surface of the moon. He turned around to see where Aziraphale had landed only to find that the angel had paused some miles away, mouth ajar as his wings worked to keep him afloat. 

“It’s…” he started, his chest still rhythmically breathing from the habit of doing so. “It’s absolutely stunning. Crowley, did you really make all of this?”

Crowley followed where Aziraphale’s eyes were looking at. It was the general direction of the moon, although from where Aziraphale was, you could see the stars far above and beyond, including the big, yellow sun and the planets orbiting her. He smiled and absolutely glowed, “Yeah, angel. Most of it anyway.” 

It had to have been since forever that Crowley had gone back to outer space. He’d forgotten how liberating and warm it made him feel, even in the cold vastness of it all.

* * *

They’d walked around in the dark side of the moon (as to not interact with the astronauts still stationed on the other side) for what seemed like hours. They’d laughed, joked, and generally enjoyed the other’s forbidden company. Heaven and Hell had eyes and ears on Earth but it’d been a long time since they even paid any attention to anything beyond the rocky planet. It was a feeling of freedom neither had felt before. 

It was already mid-afternoon when they returned to the roof of Crowley’s flat. They decided to help themselves to a couple dozen bottles of alcohol Crowley had stored up throughout the years.

Crowley laughed. “And then-- And _then,_ they just blew the bloody thing up! Just like that! And they blame _me_ for it.” 

“Well, of course they do,” Aziraphale said, smiling through a glass of wine in his hand. “You get blamed for everything down here.” 

“Yeah, but this time I didn’t even want the blasted credit!” Crowley groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Humans, I’m telling you.” 

“I know, dear.” Aziraphale finished off the last of his wine glass as Crowley downed the rest of the bottle sitting on the table. Then, the angel pouted and Crowley frowned, but he did so at his companion and not because something was bothering him.

“Angel?”

“I think it’s like you said, Crowley,” Aziraphale began, his pupils returning to normal size as the alcohol left his systems. “They don’t care how things get done. How long have we had the Arrangement? Not a single word from either of our sides.” He wasn’t even drunk anymore. He was actually saying this. _He was actually saying this._ _He was actually--_

Crowley gaped at him, yellow snake eyes in absolute disbelief. Aziraphale tried for a smile but his companion snapped his fingers and his dark glasses appeared, nestled neatly on his nose. He stood up sharply and began to walk away, leaving Aziraphale to trail his eyes after him, wondering if it was too far. 

“Look, angel, it’s already nearly the evening. How ‘bout you go home and call it a day?” 

“But-”

Crowley snapped his fingers again and the front door slowly opened, not even creaking. The demon sauntered towards his bedroom, the door shutting behind him. Aziraphale frowned. He waited to see if Crowley was going to come out but he never did. In defeat, he stood up to leave but caught patches of green in his sight, behind a corridor next to the windows. Curious, he followed the hall there and found himself in a garden of all kinds of varieties of plants.

And they were all trembling. 

Oh, Crowley. 

That serpent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does crowley have HD 4k colored-television in 1969 so that he fully enjoy doctor who? 
> 
> yes, yes he does


	6. it's a supernatural delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Azzsssssssss—” Too hard. “Angel. What time isssssss it?” 
> 
> “Nearly three in the afternoon. It’s Saturday. You’ve been out for some time. Nice nap, I hope?” 
> 
> “Angel, the observatory-”
> 
> “Maybe another time. You could show me Alpha Centauri too, if you’d like.” 
> 
> “Thankssssssss, angel.” 
> 
> “Anytime, dear.”

**Nine Months after the End of the World**

The funny thing about the end of the world is the sudden tranquility that comes after, especially for a demon and an angel that so very nearly couldn’t dig themselves out of it. Heaven and Hell had come after them afterall, which led to a very clever solution on their part and a joyous night out in the Ritz. After that, it was quiet. So quiet that Crowley had basically moved into the bookshop after a few months of tense silence from their head offices. Customers could see a large red-bellied black snake slither around the bookshelves and floor, sometimes even dozing off, perched near the large windows. The shop owner didn’t mind at all but he did put up a new sign on the door: mind the snake. This was added after a far-too curious college student had the courage to try to pet Crowley. Aziraphale had to spend a few miracles that day. 

“You shouldn’t have tried to bite him. He could have died!”

“He shouldn’t have tried to touch me, angel.” 

But neither noticed that the student had friends waiting for him. 

* * *

The first thing Crowley noticed when he came to was that he couldn’t feel his legs, which he then remembered was because he had none as a snake. The second (third?) thing he noticed was that he was in an unfamiliar and dark room, all messy and in shambles, and that everything was very high up. Finally, he noticed one last thing: the most prominent light source was the white glow from the circle he was currently trapped in. 

_ Bollocks _ , thought Crowley as he slithered around within the circle. He could recognize the runes and Latin words transcribed in the perimeter of the messy white chalk lines, as if it took a few tries to make barely-presentable yet complete circle. He was about ready to shift to his human form when he heard shuffling in the room, flashlights suddenly turning on and bothering his snake eyes. 

Crowley flicked his tongue out as he coiled in on himself, hissing loudly, a clear sign of  _ Stand back, Don’t come any closer, will ya?  _ but almost lost all his composure when he tasted the air. It was dirty, it was damp, it was old, and-- Satan, was that  _ Axe _ ? 

But the college students holding the flashlights were either incredibly thick or incredibly brave because they huddled around the front of the circle, waving their blasted flashlights all over the place. The floor was far too cold for Crowley’s comfort. 

If he were human, Crowley would’ve made a sound close to a groan. He was set up for a dinner date with his angel and if missed it, Aziraphale would know something was wrong and he didn’t need his angel to make a fuss. Oh, and Aziraphale had planned a trip to the late-night observatory that had just opened up near Crowley’s old flat. It was meant to be a surprise, of course, but the angel was rubbish at hiding things like that from Crowley, especially when he left the tickets in plain sight near a pile of books. 

Not to mention that these college kids could easily keep him in the circle for as long as they would want. What they wanted with a perfectly normal snake was beyond him. Maybe one of them just likes snakes. 

“We should call animal control,” one of them said, tugging Crowley hazily out of his thoughts. He was coiled comfortably and saw that a lamp had been turned on and the flashlights left behind. “I’m pretty sure a snake like this isn’t native to England.”

“Which is exactly why we can’t let it go! Imagine animal control with a snake like this.”

“Imagine some college students with a snake like this, Ryan!” another said, glaring at their friend. Ryan rolled his eyes and continued, “Besides, it tried to bite me in that shop, remember?”  
“I’ve never heard of anyone keeping a snake that tried to bite them,” replied another one of Ryan’s friends, a young lady with messy, short hair. 

“Oh, shut it, Aubrey!” The woman winced so Ryan apologized. “’M sorry, Aubs. But think of it, this snake is way too big to be a normal snake.”

“I think you’ve been reading too many comics, Ryan.” A stocky boy snorted and stood up, turning on the lights. He went to the door and said as he closed it, “I’ve got to study anyways. See you guys tomorrow then!” 

With the lights suddenly on, Crowley’s sensitive snake eyes blinked rapidly. Then he realized his mistake when the three remaining students stared incredulously at him. Snakes can’t blink. Only Crowley can. 

So, Crowley decided to just hiss at them, hoping to throw them off. It worked with the two boys but not with Aubrey. The young woman inched closer, reaching inside the circle, and tried to get her hand as slowly but closely as possible to Crowley’s head. The demon flinched away only to hit the back side of the perimeter with an  _ oof _ , an invisible wall catching him. 

Aubrey immediately pulled back her hand, scrambling to get farther away. Ryan and the other boy called just gaped at him. Ryan was the first to speak, pumping a fist in the air in victory, “I told you so! It’s not an actual snake!”

“You think an old bookshop owner would keep a demon in his store?”

“Well, clearly at least one does!” said the other boy, already having gotten hold of a loaded stapler as a weapon. 

Crowley sighed as he shifted to his human form, straightening his neck tie and then fluffing up his ginger hair. His golden serpentine eyes pierced into the poor souls of these kids. They were clever, that much was so, but also extremely annoying. He didn’t know how long he’d been in this college dorm and he very much wanted to catch that date with his angel. 

“Listen, you’re young and got things to do. I’ve got places to be so I’d much appreciate one of you erasing the circle.” Crowley pointed to the floor with one hand and miracled a set of glasses with the other. 

Ryan stepped forward. “Hell no! I’m not letting a demon just waltz back into London!” 

“Are ghosts real too? What about angels?” asked Aubrey, a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Aubrey, don’t encourage it!” yelled the other boy. 

“What? I’m curious.” 

“You humans are just wonderful, aren’t you?” Crowley snorted. He put his glasses on and shifted on his feet, taking one small step forward. The young adults all back up. “I really don’t want to cause trouble here; you’re just kids. So I’ll ask again,” the demon lowered his glasses to his nose, “Let me out and I’ll put a good word for you all.” 

Aubrey and the other boy looked at each other, as if considering the offer. Ryan, however, reached a book on his disorganized bookshelves. It was old, thick, and the cover was a plain black color with golden writing on it:  _ Occult Beings in Our World _ . 

Aw, how nice, the poor boy thinks he can exorcise a demon like Crowley.

The poor boy  _ can’t _ exorcise a demon like Crowley.

Crowley swallowed in fear. Nasty things can happen if an exorcism is done wrong. Nasty thing  _ will  _ happen because Crowley isn’t possessing anybody. Nasty things that Crowley would rather not happen at all. Nastier things than a tub full of holy water. 

He put his hand up. “Now, now, I promise I really don’t mean any harm. Kids are off-limits, that’s what I always say.”

“Shut it, demon,” growled Ryan, flipping through his book. Aubrey shot her friend a look but then turned to Crowley. She walked up to him, her eyes studying him. “Is God real?”

“Yeah, and she’s a bloody pain in the arse. Ineffable and all that.” Crowley mentally kicked himself for letting Aziraphale rub off on him that much. He tried to correct himself. “And all her angels are a bunch of wankers.”  _ Except for one. _

Aubrey laughed. “Ryan, I really don’t think he’s going to do anything. I mean, look at him.” 

“Don’t underestimate the occult,” replied Ryan, finally stopping at a page deep into his book. He smiled and locked eyes with Crowley, who tried to conceal his fear behind his glasses, casually leaning his weight on his feet. “He’s probably torturing the mind of whomever’s body that is.” 

“Robert was right. You’ve been reading to many of those books and comics,” said the other boy, who had sandy hair. 

“Says the botany major. What do you plan to do with the plants you cultivate? Sell them as phony drugs?”  
The other boy rolled his eyes. “Botany doesn’t need to include cannabis in it, Ryan.” 

“Sure, Michael.” 

Crowley made a mental note of this, even as he said, trying to keep his cool facade, “Plants only do what you want if you put the fear of God in them.” 

Michael let out a small laugh but stopped when he saw Ryan’s stoic expression. Aubrey stretched. “Whatever. God’s real but I need to finish a thesis so let’s see if He’s real long enough to help me.” And with that she left. Or she tried to. Because the thing with a door is that you can’t leave if a blonde angel was there blocking it, looking extremely cross. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s face softened at the sight of his unharmed demon, who responded with a quiet and embarrassed “Hey, angel.” Then it returned when he looked around at the college students. “What on Earth are you kids playing at here?”

Ryan grabbed a lighter, flicked it on, and held it up threateningly. Michael held out his stapler. Aubrey didn’t move. 

“Relax, angel, just a couple of curious kids,” said Crowley. He should really take his own advice. 

“A couple of curious kids wouldn’t have an exorcism circle surrounding you nor would they have a copy of the most accurate and searched-for occult book.” Aziraphale scoffed, then noticed Aubrey. “Were you leaving, dear child?”

Aubrey meekly nodded. Aziraphale stepped out of the way and almost shoved her out. “Anyone else want to leave?” 

Michael bolted for the door. Ryan stood his ground. “Get the hell back, demons!” 

“Demons?” Aziraphale had the audacity to act confused before realizing that the boy must think he too was an occult being. The angel shook his head. “Oh, you poor boy.” He turned to Crowley. “Humans never learn do they, my dear?”

“Never. Now, angel, get me out of here, will ya?” 

“Of course.” But before Aziraphale could snap his fingers to perform a miracle, Ryan threw away his lighter in favor for a cup of cold water, which he flung at the angel. Aziraphale, momentarily distracted by the failed imitation of holy water, muttered to himself and wiped his hand at his coat sleeve. Ryan backed up to the corner of his dorm and bore his eyes into the opened pages of his book, already mispronouncing all the Latin. 

Aziraphale stared in horror as Crowley let out a piercing scream, his body bending in all the wrong places. Crowley threw his head back and clawed at his throat, long black talons having grown in his fingertips. He then whipped his entire body back to smash into the invisible wall of the circle and _ howled,  _ his legs in a full spasm, as he shifted into his snake form, like a final defensive measure. As suddenly as it started, he crumpled to the floor, completely limp, like a pile of rags on the ground. 

The college boy stopped and lowered his book, a victorious smile on his face. Aziraphale let out a breath he didn’t know he sucked in. Ryan stepped forward but Aziraphale was quick to catch his arm, warning, “No, don’t!” 

Ryan tugged him off. “You’re next.” 

“I really wouldn’t get any closer.” 

“Don’t tell  _ me  _ what to do.” The boy bent down over the edge of the circle and sweeped away some of the chalk, breaking the circle. 

“You  _ stupid _ boy,” muttered the angel. Ryan used his book to poke at the demon, who didn’t give any response or movement. He was like a corpse. 

Normally, an exorcism would send a demon’s supernatural consciousness back to Hell. A normal discorporation, really. But Crowley wasn’t possessing anyone. Crowley wasn’t discorporated. He wasn’t sent back. Sending him back would have been too merciful, for the boy at least. 

Because as soon as Ryan stepped foot into the deactivated circle, the large black snake that wasn’t quite Crowley, per say, launched itself at him. The boy pressed the book against his face as he fell back, the snake’s fangs latching onto the edges, jaws unhinged. Aziraphale bounded to the boy, grabbing him and pulling him back. 

The snake curled back and put height into its neck, thrilling and hissing. It bared its fangs and spit out venom that Aziraphale only barely managed to miracle away before it landed on anything. The angel pulled the boy to his feet and snapped his fingers again. When the door didn’t open at first, Aziraphale’s scolding face changed its mind. 

He snapped his fingers for a third time, at Ryan now. “This was all just a terrible nightmare. Your thesis and study sessions are stressing you too much. Now, out!” 

With the boy gone, Aziraphale could tend to his beloved demon, recognition gone in those fiery and molten eyes. 

_ Oh, my dear.  _

* * *

The serpentine demon (but not quite a very good one) named as Crowley roused himself from sleep feeling very comfortable and very warm and very safe. He blinked lazily a few times before focusing on the cold white mug of chocolate sitting on a messy wooden desk. He shifted a little to feel that he was wrapped around something, something very warm and nice. 

Someone was also stroking the scales on his head. Crowley wanted to recoil at it but the hands felt familiar.  _ Aziraphale. _

Crowley flicked his tongue out, tasting the vanilla scents from the candles situated anywhere they could be, and coiled himself closer to Aziraphale, nudging into his soft and manicured hands. 

“Good afternoon, my dear,” said Aziraphale, closing his book to address his demon. 

“Azzsssssssss—” Too hard. “Angel. What time isssssss it?” 

“Nearly three in the afternoon. It’s Saturday. You’ve been out for some time. Nice nap, I hope?” 

“Angel, the observatory-”

“Maybe another time. You could show me Alpha Centauri too, if you’d like.” 

Crowley did a vague motion with his head that looked like a nod but he felt too tired to make it dramatic enough. Instead, he just curled closer and let his head drop. “Thankssssssss, angel.” 

“Anytime, dear.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooooooo boy! this is done! took a while with this chapter but i got it done in the end. 
> 
> this fic has been a whole ride, i never expected as many people to like it 
> 
> thank you so much you guys <3 yall are the best 
> 
> <3<3<3<3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this isn't ooc
> 
> y'all, just ty <3


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